


Consolation

by OneEyedDestroyer



Series: Beautiful, Languid, and Filthy-Gorgeous [15]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Head to Head, Rope Bondage, These idiots are terrible at feelings and apologies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 03:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16210043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEyedDestroyer/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer
Summary: ”Do you like Eliot?” Margo asks sternly. The question is mostly rhetorical.“Yes, I like him but wh—” Quentin starts to ask another question, but she cuts him off, before he can overthink it.“Did you like having your cock in his mouth?”“Jesus, Margo. Yes.”Post Head to Head, Margo enlists Quentin to help make Eliot feel better.





	Consolation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a followup for Head to Head, so spoilers for that fic if you haven’t read it already. 
> 
> Head to Head was a fucking Adventure™️, and clearly the story isn’t done because it keeps musing ideas. This will be the first of several fics that directly reference the events of HtH. These poor assholes just don’t know how to talk about their feelings. 
> 
> Special thanks to [ **Rae** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/highestkingbambi)for the great beta edit. My writing wouldn’t be half as strong without you. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy.

Artificial amber lighting fills the cottage. The natural light of the sun has long been replaced by darkness and the vague glow of the moon. Empty solo cups and plastic plates are strewn about the cottage. The remnants of balloons are interspersed with the large chunks of confetti and glitter. Eventually someone is going to need to clean this up; thank god for magic. Quentin leans back into the pillows on the windowsill, thankful for the return of quiet, and buries his nose deeper into his book. Watching from a distance, Margo laughs at his predictability. She approaches him with slow, deliberate steps until the ominous click of her heels pulls him from his book. He looks up, furrowing his brow in confusion, tucking some hair behind his ear before closing his book. She plops down beside him, crossing a knee over the other and smiles wickedly.

 

“Uh, hey Margo,” he asks, his voice trailing off and rising in pitch as he scans her face. She takes the book out of his hand and places it behind him. “I was reading that,” he tries to object, but she grabs his arm and pulls him up from the windowsill.

 

“Too bad,” she says. “Upstairs.” She pulls his arm again, dragging him behind her as she walks up the stairs. Quentin stumbles, struggling to keep up. His free hand reaches out for the railing to try to maintain balance. Once they reach the top of the stairs, Q begins to head for Margo’s room and is knocked completely off balance when she turns sharply toward Eliot's door. He falls into her and she laughs. It didn’t occur to her that he would do anything other than follow her lead. This is going to be much more fun than she thought.

 

“What the hell, Margo?” he asks, completely resigned. 

 

“It’s a surprise,” she says, playfully seductive. “For both of you.” 

 

Before Quentin has the chance to ask, she kicks Eliot’s door open and drags him over the threshold. To Quentin’s shock, the room is empty,  he was definitely expecting to see Eliot waiting to begin his part of whatever twisted plan is in motion . He looks at Margo, mouth ajar and eyes welling with confusion. He’s at a loss for words.

 

“It’s fun, I promise,”  she says with a smile. “Now get on the bed.” 

 

Quentin purses his lips. He looks at Margo expectantly, and when she doesn’t offer any more detail, he runs a nervous hand through his hair. 

Margo brings her hands to her hips, quickly losing her patience. Before she has a chance to snap at him, Quentin does as he’s told and pulls his shoes off with his hands before climbing onto Eliot’s bed. He falls back into the huge collection of pillows, and can’t help but look around and take in the little details. Eliot maintains the most delicate balance of order and chaos.  Margo closes the door and grabs the black, cotton ropes she placed on the door handle before going downstairs. She kicks off her shoes and crawls onto the bed. 

 

“Um, Margo?” His voice shakes somewhere between terrified and turned on. 

 

Margo brings her knees to either side of Quentin’s hips, straddling him. “Relax, Coldwater,” she says, though her tone is more patronizing than soothing.  “I’m not fucking you tonight.” She laughs as she sits on his hips. “But Eliot might be.”

 

“What?” he asks, a light blush begins to rise up his neck. He tries to suppress it, but Margo catches the spark of excitement that flickers through his face.

 

“Is that a no?” she asks, voice soft and genuinely concerned. She sets the rope down. She wants to do something fun for these two idiots, but she would never force them. 

 

“No—it’s not th—what?” He asks again after stumbling over his words. 

 

Margo sighs, and brings her hand to his face. She strokes his cheek with her thumb before tucking some of his hair neatly behind his ear. “Do you like Eliot?” She asks sternly.  The question is mostly rhetorical.    
  
Quentin runs his own hand through his hair. The absent minded gesture drops his hair back over his eyes. “Yes, I like him but wh—” he starts to ask another question, but she cuts him off, before he can overthink it.

 

“Did you like having your cock in his mouth?”   
her voice remains stern, but her face is lit with a playful smile. 

 

“Jesus, Margo. Yes,”  he sighs, exasperated as he shifts beneath her. His eyes slam shut in embarrassment as his hips roll against her ass; there is no hiding his increasing arousal at her words. 

 

She laughs at how easily flustered he is. “No judgment,” she says leaning in to bring her lips to his ear. “El’s fantastic with his mouth,” she says with a slight moan, making sure to brush her lips against him before sitting back onto his hips.  

 

Quentin furrows his brow and cocks his head in confusion before quickly shaking whatever question he had out of his head. He sighs as if everything suddenly makes sense to him.  

 

Tired of watching the wheels turning in his head, Margo tries to move things along. “Do you want to help me make it up to him?”   
  


“Eliot said you guys were fine,” he says softly.  The thought of Margo being worried about anything is completely foreign to Quentin, but he thinks they’re starting to become friends, so he definitely wants to help her.    
  


 

“We are,” she says, matter of fact. “ Doesn’t mean I can’t give him a little consolation gift after kicking his ass in public, ” she says in a tone that is mostly smug pride, but her genuine desire to perk Eliot up is clear in the soft glint in her eyes. “Do you want to make him feel better?” She tries to ask with a straight face, but she can’t help but smirk as she gets to the end of the question. She knows he’s dying to have Eliot’s mouth on him again. 

 

“Yes,” he says, free of hesitation. 

 

“Then sit still,” she reaches for the ropes, snapping them for dramatic effect.   
  


Margo slides her hands beneath Quentin’s shirt, stroking her fingers along the hair beneath his navel. She grabs the hem and pulls his shirt over his torso, bringing them face to face once it is over his head. He’s beaming with appreciation and brings his lips to hers for a soft kiss. Margo rolls her eyes and pushes him back into the pillows. 

 

“You’re welcome.” She slides her knees forward,  bringing her hips higher onto his torso. She runs her fingers over his shoulder, lightly scratching her nails all the way up his arm. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she brings his arm over his head, guiding him to wrap his fingers around one the gold posts in the headboard. Taking both ends of the rope in her left hand, she slips her index finger between them and pulls it along the length until she meets the loop she creates at the opposite end. She pulls the rope tight and lays the center against Quentin’s wrist. Without releasing the rope, she brings her hands behind his wrist, swapping the ends between hands as she pulls the rope, flush against his skin, back over to the front of his wrist. Making sure to maintain the tension, she makes another identical pass of the ropes, this time crossing the ends over each other, perpendicular to the rope now wrapped around Quentin’s wrist. Holding the short end in place with a finger, she loops the long end around and behind where the ropes cross. Slipping her fingers through the loop, she pulls the long end through and tugs, cinching the knot in place. Quentin groans at the sudden movement. 

 

“Still breathing?” she asks, checking in, as she slides a finger beneath the cuff she just tied. Satisfied that the cuff is tight enough to hold without cutting off any circulation, she drops her hands to Quentin’s sides to tickling him.

 

Quentin nods vigorously in response to her question,  squirming beneath her as he laughs. He looks so content with the black rope tied around his wrist. Margo lightly tugs the rope until Quentin releases his grasp on the headboard. She ties the loose end of the rope around the the last post on the headboard, pulling Quentin’s arm slightly over his head. He relaxes his arm, the rope holding it in place, letting his hand dangle for a bit before deciding to grip the rope for support. 

 

Margo ties the second rope to the opposite end of the headboard, leaving one end loose. She knots and folds her fingers intricately over each other. The loose end of the rope stirs before settling at Quentin’s side. 

 

“For safety,” she says when his face fills with curiosity. “If Eliot isn’t up here in ten minutes, pull the short end of the knot.” Quentin tears his eyes from the black rope around his wrist to nod his understanding. “If Eliot comes up when he is supposed to, the second rope will tie your other hand to the bed. Sound good?” The tone of her voice is soft and full of care, she wants to make sure everything is clear. She doesn’t fuck around with safety or consent. 

 

Quentin nods again, before speaking, “Sounds good.” Margo expects him to be nervous, but he seems surprisingly comfortable with the situation, excited even. A gorgeous serenity spreads across his face as he lets his eyes fall closed. 

 

Reaching between their bodies, Margo unbuttons Quentin’s jeans, quickly unzipping his fly behind it. Quentin cocks his head in confusion, sending some of his hair into his face. 

 

“Kinda hard to fuck with your pants on,” Margo deadpans. Satisfied with her explanation, Quentin tries to relax beneath her, but a bright red blush rises up his neck. She slides his jeans off his legs and throws them to the floor. “Relax,” she says with a laugh. “Stop acting like you don’t know what the back of my throat feels like,” she punctuates her her statement by grabbing hold of his cock.

 

A small yelp escapes Quentin at the contact, but he laughs at her words. She takes his half hard cock into her mouth. He moans at the feeling as she works him up with slow, firm strokes of her tongue. She wraps her tongue around the head with a clever twist before slipping him out of her mouth. Before he can mourn the loss, she brings her mouth to the base of his cock in a wet kiss and glides her tongue all the way to the head. Looking up, she catches sight of his blissfully closed eyes and his hand gripped tight around the rope that binds him to the bed. He attempts to stroke her hair with his free hand, but she playfully swats him away. She slips Quentin out of her mouth and he whines at the loss. 

 

“As much as I’d love to finish you off, this is for Eliot,” she says as she produces a small tube from her bra. She removes the cap, revealing a deep plum lipstick. Margo looks up at Quentin, intending to catch his eyes, but they are already hyper focused on her lips. Not one to disappoint, she allows her lips to fall open, then slides her tongue over the bottom one at an agonizingly slow pace;  her lip twitches slightly, fighting back a smile as she watches his chest heave in arousal . Bringing the tube to her bottom lip, she pauses just before making contact. Quentin’s lips open slightly, silently begging her to continue. At the first touch of the lipstick, the deep, aubergine pigment melts onto her skin, slowly enhancing the dramatic pout of her bottom lip. When she reaches the other corner of her mouth, she brings her lips together in a brief kiss, transferring a small amount of the pigment to her top lip. Reaching into her bra once more, she grabs a small mirror, opening it up in a single snap of her wrist. She brings the lipstick back to her lip and carefully traces the dramatic peaks of her Cupid’s bow with a masterful precision. With her lips now the color of a dark, ripe plum, she leans forward, and brings her lips dangerously close to the base of Quentin’s cock before quickly swerving up to his hip. He whines as his cock jumps, aching for the warmth of her mouth. He nearly melts when she presses her lips softly to his hipbone. She holds her lips to his skin for longer than is comfortable for either of them, but she wants to make sure to leave a solid mark as she signs her masterpiece.

  
“In case Eliot has  _ any _ doubt about who this is from,” she says giving Quentin a wink as she slides off the bed. Quentin laughs nervously, moving to run both hands through his hair, but quickly being reminded that one is bound to the bedpost. Laughing at his adorable forgetfulness, Margo begins to step out of the room, but pauses to add, “Ten Minutes,” with a stern look and point of a finger. Quentin nods his understanding, and she steps into the hallway, closing the door behind her. 

 

Turning the corner toward her bedroom, she catches sight of Eliot ascending the stairs. “There you are,” he says, relieved. He instinctively reaches for her hands and pulls her closer. “I think I’m ready to call it a night. What about you?” he asks, walking them toward her bedroom door. When Eliot reaches for the doorknob, she places a gentle hand over his,  stalling his attempt to open the door . Margo can almost hear his heart drop. They always go to bed together after a huge fight; the fear and rejection are already all over his face. Fuck, this was supposed to be a fun surprise, she didn’t think she would worry him. His jaw falls open a little and his eyes frantically search hers for answers. 

 

She slips her fingers between his and pulls his hand off the doorknob.“You should sleep in your own bed tonight,” she tries to reassure him by allowing her words to drip with sensuality and innuendo, but his brow furrows; her choice of tone is just confusing him further. 

 

“You don’t want a cuddle buddy tonight?” he finally asks, trying to sound casual, but his voice is shaky. 

  
“Not yet,” she says. Squeezing his hand, she leans onto her toes and places a soft kiss to his jaw, taking a moment to appreciate the emerging scruff. “You can thank me in the morning.” She doesn’t want to know what emotions are playing on his face, so she squeezes his hand again and quickly steps through her door, hoping her words were cryptic and enticing enough to get him to his room before Quentin frees himself. 

 

The door shuts, leaving Eliot standing alone in the hallway, confused and defeated. He reaches into his waistcoat and pulls out his flask to take a deep swig. He reaches back into his pocket for a cigarette, but finds it empty. His lips tighten, twisting his face into a grimace as he groans in frustration. Walking down the hall to his room, he makes a point to make every footfall louder and more dramatic than the last. He reaches for his door and notices the light is on. When the fuck did he do that? Without pausing to work it out, he throws his door open. Much to his surprise, a very naked, very hard Quentin Coldwater is tied to his bed by one hand. Once both feet are over the threshold, a second rope ties Quentin’s other hand to the opposite bedpost. Quentin jumps slightly as the rope wraps itself around his wrist, causing a hot blush to rise through his face. Quentin never seems to know just how delicious he looks. Eliot can’t help but smile as he closes the door behind him. 

 

“Very clever,” he says as he allows his eyes to wander over Quentin’s body. He walks to the edge of the bed and traces the plum lip mark on Quentin's hip. The soft touch of a single finger makes Quentin tremble. “Remind me to thank her in the morning.” 


End file.
